ht. Suffering and sorrow had
left thereon indelible marks; but the clear grey eyes, beneath level
brows, were luminous with a light betokening the victory of a pure and
noble spirit over passionate and most human flesh.

No sinner, in her presence, ever felt crushed by hopeless weight of
sin; no saint, before the gaze of her calm eyes, felt sure of being
altogether faultless.

So truly was she woman, that all humanity seemed lifted to her level;
so completely was she saint, that sin did slink away abashed before her
coming.

They who feared her most, were most conscious of her kindness. They
who loved her best, were least able to venture near.

In the first bloom of her womanhood she had left the world, resigning
high rank, fair lands, and the wealth which makes for power. Her faith
in human love having been rudely shattered, she had sought security in
Divine compassion, and consolation in the daily contemplation of the
Man of Sorrows. In her cell, on a rough wooden cross, hung a life-size
figure of the dying Saviour.

She had not reached her twenty-fifth year when, fleeing from the world,
she joined the Order of the White Ladies of Worcester, and passed into
the seclusion and outward calm of the Nunnery at Whytstone.

Five years later, on the death of the aged Prioress, she was elected,
by a large majority, to fill the vacant place.

She had now, during two years, ruled the Nunnery wisely and well.

She had ruled her own spirit, even better. She had won the victory
over the World and the Flesh; there remained but the Devil. The Devil,
alas, always remains.

As she moved, with uplifted brow and mien of calm detachment, along the
sunlit cloister to the lofty, stone passage, within, the Convent, she
was feared by many, loved by most, and obeyed by all.

And, as she passed, old Mary Antony, bowing almost to the ground,
dropped a large white pea, from between her right thumb and finger,
into the horny palm of her left hand.

Behind the Prioress there followed a nun, tall also, but ungainly. Her
short-sighted eyes peered shiftily to right and left; her long nose
went on before, scenting possible scandal and wrong-doing; her weak
lips let loose a ready smile, insinuating, crafty, apologetic. She
walked with hands crossed upon her breast, in attitude of adoration and
humility. As she moved by, old Mary Antony let drop the pale and
speckled pea.

Keeping their distances, mostly with shrouded faces, bent